Prairie Song (21 page)

“Maggie!” he yelled as she reached the porch.

She turned and pushed the strands of ebony hair from her face, but didn’t speak.

“I’ll go,” he shouted, “as soon as Cherish gets back, if that’s what you want.”

Maggie nodded once as if a second time might break her in half.

Every powerful muscle in Grayson’s body tightened. He wanted to run to her and hold her so tightly she’d never break his grip. But force or shouting wasn’t the way to win her. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he’d find it if he had to try for the rest of his life. He’d lived in that same prison of loneliness and, unlike her, he never wanted to go back.

He worked in the barn until it was dark. As he crossed to the house he was still no closer to figuring out what to do. When he stepped into the kitchen, Bar, not Maggie, greeted him.

“Miss Maggie said for us to go ahead and eat. She wanted to sit with Hattie for a while longer. The old girl ain’t doin’ so well. Her arms and feet are starting to curl up like she’s going back to bein’ a newborn baby.”

Grayson washed his hands and sat down across from the boy. “Is Hattie in pain? I heard her yelling earlier.”

“She was, but she got a letter from her little girl. It settled her down some. The doctor we had out here once said the old lady would never live to see spring. That was two years ago.”

“You were here then?”

“Sure. My ma was alive then. She used to take care of Hattie before Azile. When Ma died, Azile came, but she was different. Always asking questions that no one had the answer to and sometimes sneaking off to town and staying for days.”

Grayson put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You know she’s dead, son.”

Dark gypsy eyes looked up at Grayson. “Yeah, I know. Can’t say I’m sorry. A fella can’t go around gettin’ too attached to people. They all just die or run out on you when you least expect it.”

“Barfield?” Maggie’s voice caught them both by surprise.

Bar stood. “Yes, ma’am.”

Maggie handed him an envelope. “Is this the letter that came for Hattie today?”

Bar suddenly looked nervous. “Yes.”

“You know she treasures the letters. She keeps them hidden under her bed in a box.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you know the daughter who lives up north is never coming.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Grayson looked confused. “Why not, if she keeps writing? She might just show up any day. Who is to say that she’s not on her way right now? Maybe she just couldn’t come because of the war.”

Both the others looked at him with the sadness of no hope in their eyes.

Maggie placed an arm around the boy’s shoulders and hugged him to her. “The daughter’s not coming because the envelopes have no postage.”

Grayson flipped the paper over and saw that there was nothing except Hattie’s name written there. He looked up at Maggie and raised one eyebrow.

She touched Bar’s hair with her fingers. “How long have you been writing them?”

Bar owned up to his crime. “Ever since she got sick. Three, maybe four years. She started losin’ her mind from the present back. She could remember some guy that was here six years ago, but she couldn’t think what she’d eaten for breakfast. One day she forgot that her daughter had died years ago. She started worryin’ about why she hadn’t gotten a letter. So I just wrote one and that made her real happy for a long time. It was somethin’ she could hold onto when her mind flooded with fear.”

He turned wide, dark eyes up at Maggie. “I didn’t mean no harm. Everybody said she only had a few months to live, so why shouldn’t she have some hope? It’s better to have a daughter that might come than no one at all.”

Grayson studied Maggie’s face, but she held herself too tightly in control to allow the tears brimming in her eyes to fall.

She patted the boy’s head. “What you did was wrong, but maybe for the right reason.” Hugging him close she whispered, “Bar, no matter what happens I want you to know you have a home here with me. I promise I’m not going to die or run out on you. I know what it feels like when you wonder where you’ll be sleeping from week to week. I don’t want you to worry. My home will always be your home.”

For the first time since they’d known him, the little boy showed beneath the little man. He wrapped his arms around Maggie and cried. He held to her as if she’d just announced his greatest fear and in so doing wiped it from his mind forever.

Grayson watched the scene between them. He wanted to scream,
What about me? How long do I have to wander before someone welcomes me home?
Deep down inside him, he made a promise that he’d win Maggie back. Then the three of them would be together. At their age, they might never have children, but they’d have Bar to raise. He stood suddenly and stormed out to the barn. He needed time to think. If he didn’t figure out how to get Maggie back soon, Bar would be grown.

And it had better be something better than gambling for her, or she’d probably deal him a dead-man’s hand herself this time.

Before he was fully awake Brant pulled Cherish to him. The predawn blackness mixed with the world of his dreams. She felt so wonderful in his arms: fresh as the first touch of spring rain and warm as the last ray of sunshine on a long summer day. He buried his face against her neck and lightly kissed her skin.
Damn
, his groggy mind thought,
this is too good to be a dream
.

Cherish turned her face to him and kissed his full bottom lip. When he didn’t respond, she tugged at it lightly with her teeth. “Kiss me back,” she demanded.

Brant would have awakened from death to answer her request. He kissed her slowly and tenderly. He could never remember being gentle in his life, but he was gentle with her now. To him, bringing her pleasure was a sweet torture he’d gladly die from.

He raised himself on one elbow. As his tongue tasted the inside of her mouth, he lowered his chest over her and heard her moan with pleasure as his hard muscles pressed against her softness. Loving Cherish would have to be slow and easy, he reminded himself. For loving her was the only pure heaven he’d ever known. He moved above her and suddenly living became more beautiful than any dream.

Hours later, when he awoke again, Cherish was gone from his side. Brant had looked into death’s cold eyes many times, but never had he felt the fear that slammed against his chest now. Somehow, she’d vanished like a dream at dawn.

He rose and looked around the shadows of the dugout. Only emptiness stared back. Dressing quickly, he went outside where she always sat to comb her hair. The day was as still as a tomb and the air was heavy, like it always gets just before a storm. All night, when he’d been loving her, he hadn’t thought about what it would be like when she was not with him. Now he realized that for every moment of pleasure, he’d suffer a day of pain when this week ended.

The sound of her humming drifted to him from between the cottonwoods. He ran toward the stream, willingly sacrificing all the days he had left to live for a few more moments with her.

Cherish was standing waist-deep in the water, washing. Her body was bare to the morning sun and glistening with droplets. When he approached, she whirled and lowered herself into the water.

Brant could only watch her. She was like a painting too wonderful to describe. The thought that such a woman so freely gave herself to him was beyond the realm of possibility. He’d lived so long with nothing that the sudden feast of her was too much.

“I’ve decided,” she said as she rubbed soap over her arms, “that I shall never do again what I did to you last night.”

Brant felt his throat tighten in pain. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear more. How many times in his life had he heard people change their minds about caring for him? How many folks had taken him in, promising him a home and love, only to turn him out when times got hard and he was just another mouth to feed?

“I’m ashamed of being so bold.” Cherish looked up and saw him lower his hat to hide his eyes. His stance was defensive, like he was waiting for a blow from nowhere to strike him. If she hadn’t been able to still feel the gentleness of his touch, she would have sworn that this man was incapable of such tenderness. He looked stone-hard and unyielding.

Slowly, she moved toward him, letting the water splash just below her breasts as she moved. “I promise I’ll never force you to love me at knife-point again. You’ll have to come freely or not at all. I’ll take no more. I could have accidentally harmed you.”

With a sudden splash, Brant was in the water. It didn’t matter that he was fully clothed; he swam toward her in long, powerful strokes. He pulled her into his arms and lifted her high in the cool morning air.

Cherish’s laughter mixed with the gurgling of the stream as he carried her to shore.

“I thought you were sorry about last night,” he whispered as he hugged her so tightly he feared he might break one of her ribs.

“No.” For the first time she saw a touch of the frightened little boy in this outlaw. “I’ll never be sorry about last night.”

His lips found hers and their kiss warmed her body. When he reached the shore, he lowered her legs so that both his hands could caress her cool flesh.

When he finally raised his head, she whispered, “I love you.”

“No.” Brant pulled away and the sadness in his chestnut eyes was now for her. “Don’t love me. I have no life to offer you, no future.”

Cherish held his arm fast in her fingers. “You love me too, whether you say the words or not. How could I not love you after what you’ve given me? I thought something was wrong with me. I was dead inside. You taught me to feel. I’ll always thank you for what you did.”

“What I’ve given you?” He cupped her chin in his palm and lifted her face until their eyes met. “Don’t you know what you’ve given me? I’ve never had anyone care about me. I’ve never had anyone crawl under my skin the way you do. I’d kill myself before I’d hurt you, so stop thanking me. And stop loving me. I’m not worth it.”

Anger flashed across Cherish’s face like a brushfire through dry kindling. “How dare you, sir, say such a thing about the man I love.” Her fist was flying through the air before either of them realized it. With all the force in her, she clipped him on the chin and sent his head jerking backward.

Brant lost his balance on the wet bank and stumbled several feet into the shallow water. He rubbed his jaw and looked at the woman before him. She was nude and dripping wet with her fists doubled for battle. He’d never backed down from a fight in his life, but he lost this one in one blow. He’d stand there and let her hit him all day without ever thinking of fighting back.

“You might as well admit you love me.” She turned and headed toward the house. “For I’m not going to speak to you until you do.”

He caught up to her as she reached the branch where she’d left her nightgown. “I don’t mind you not talking to me as long as you’ll sleep with me,” he teased.

Quickly he dodged another blow. As she swung, he caught her around the waist and pulled her close. “All right, before you beat me near to death, I’ll say the words. I love you. God, I love you, woman, more than I’ve ever loved anything or anyone in my life.”

Hours later, when they lay close together in the late afternoon sun, Brant whispered, “If only I could give you a future.”

Cherish rolled close and held to him as if she knew even now that she must start the process of letting go. “I have you now and now will have to be enough.”

He lifted her hand and kissed each one of her fingers. He thought of telling her why he’d killed the men he had. A part of him wanted her to know his reasons, even if she might not understand. But he’d have to tell her the ugly parts of his life, the parts no one except Daniel and he had seen. Then he’d have to tell her why the last man he’d probably have to kill was Daniel.

Suddenly, he knew he couldn’t share that part of his life with her. She’d never know the reason for the scars on his wrist, or the reason he was hunted for murders he never committed. She’d never know the bond between him and Daniel that kept him alive and that would someday be the reason both men would die.

Cherish spread her hand over his chest and felt his heart pounding beneath her fingers. She fought the urge to thank him once more for all he’d given her. Even if they were parted and were never allowed another time together, they’d had last night and today. She’d learned to feel, to care beyond reason. Never again would she feel like she’d just watched everyone else living life, for now she had a memory, a memory of living and loving. He’d touched her with magic and made her feel. She’d treasure the loving and endure the pain of good-bye, knowing that after today she’d never be quite the same.

They didn’t make love that night, but held each other and talked of things lovers confide only to one another. All the barriers had been shattered between them. There was nothing but honesty and love left. Neither mentioned the future, when their days together would only be memories. For the night was a time of whispered dreams and gently woven memories.

At dawn, Brant saddled his horse while Cherish dressed. When he returned to the dugout, he found she’d straightened the place as though they’d be coming back to it again. She’d even picked wildflowers and placed them on the table.

Brant lifted a sunflower in his hand and crushed it suddenly in his fist. “They’ll only die,” he whispered between clenched teeth.

“No!” Cherish answered as she forced his fingers open and took the flower from his hand. “I’ll always remember them here like this. They’ll always be alive to me.”

Suddenly, Brant snapped like the stem of the flower had. He pulled her into his arms and held her.

“I won’t let the world take you back.” He buried his face in her golden hair. “You’re all the beauty I’ve ever known.”

Tears rolled unchecked down Cherish’s face. “I know,” she whispered as she stroked his hair. “I know how you feel, but I must go back.”

Brant knew they couldn’t stay there forever. It would only be a matter of weeks, maybe days, before someone stumbled onto the place. For a moment he envisioned her standing at the door of the dugout watching some bounty hunter gun him down. Maybe she’d run toward him and get caught in the crossfire. He knew some men would think nothing of shooting her if they thought she was his woman—or, worse, murdering her just to get to him. His only hope of keeping them both out of danger was to keep moving. He had to travel fast and he had to travel alone. And no one must ever know she meant anything to him, or her life would be in jeopardy.

“I’ll love you every moment I live,” he whispered against the warmth of her neck. “I know we can never be together, but that can’t stop the way I feel.”

She pushed his hair from his eyes so she could look once more into his handsome face. “And I’ll love you,”

she whispered, “every hour of every day for the rest of my life.”

Brant lifted her hands to his lips and kissed each palm, closing her fingers as if she could somehow hold onto his kiss to use in all the lonely nights to come. Then, hand in hand, they stepped into the sunlight.

They left the dugout without looking back. He wasn’t sure he could. He lifted her up into the saddle and swung up behind her. They rode fast across the open country, both knowing it was best not to postpone what had to be.

As the miles thundered beneath the horse, the sky blackened with impending rain, and lightning flashed along the horizon. Brant encircled her in his arms, protecting her from the wind. He wished he could ride far enough and fast enough to outrun his past, but there was nowhere they would be safe to just love one another.

When they reached Fort Worth, he rode up the back road to Hattie’s Parlor until he could see the barn. He swung from the horse and reached up for Cherish.

She slid into his embrace and held tight. “I love you,” she whispered. “I love you more than life.” Tears blended with the rain on her face.

“I know,” he whispered as he tasted the salty tears on her cheeks.

He tied his horse and walked to the barn. He didn’t dare go any farther, for even now he was putting her in danger.

“I’ll find a way to see you again,” Brant promised. “You’ll be safe with Grayson and Margaret.”

“I’d rather be with you than safe.”

“I know, but I can’t risk your life.” He smiled down at her with a depth of love that surrounded her. “I’ve never said ‘I love you’ to another person in my life, but I love you. Right now, I have to love you enough to say good-bye.”

With a sudden force he pushed her from him and stepped into the blackness. He was gone before she could say anything to get him to stay just a minute longer. His last words rang in her ears as she crossed the yard and entered the house.

Brant watched her go, feeling as if all the good in the world had just stepped out of his arms. He leaned against the barn wall and closed his eyes. All his life he’d watched folks who cared about each other. He’d seen them walking arm in arm, or helping one another in a thousand little ways. But he never dreamed he’d care for someone that way. He would have sworn it wasn’t ever in him to do so, but then came Cherish with her belief that he was gentle and kind. The frightening thing was that when he was near her, her belief made it somehow true.

Voices drifted through the cracks in the barn wall. Brant forced his eyes open and listened.

Grayson’s low tone sounded first. “I need a few more days here before I take any other assignment.”

Another voice, higher, younger, and flavored with nervousness, came through the cracks. “I’m sorry, Captain, but the orders asked for you. Word is only one man at a time could get close to where these men hide out. If we sent a patrol they’d know we were coming for miles and pick us off from the cliffs above. But you’re an expert at hunting down men who don’t want to be found, and we might never get this good a lead again. This may be our one chance to find out who these men are who call themselves the Knights.”

“And if I refuse?” Grayson couldn’t endure the thought of leaving Margaret, even though it had been quiet for a week now. At this point, he wasn’t sure he cared if the young second lieutenant said they’d court-martial him for not following orders.

The young man’s answer came low and slow. “If you don’t do this, more innocent people will die. The group over at Hank Stevens’ place was just the beginning of more promised bloodshed. You’ve got to get in and stop the leader from getting another midnight ride organized. We can guess who all the followers are, but the leader is a mystery we’ve got to get solved fast. He’s the kind of man who does the planning then lets the others do the work … the kind who orders people killed, but doesn’t dirty his own hands unless he has to.”

Grayson’s voice sounded tired. “By ‘stop,’ you mean ‘kill.”’

“If that’s what it takes. We have to stop this leader before he gets an organization going that should have died and been buried before the war.”

Grayson sighed. “All right. Give me a few minutes to make up some story to tell Maggie and I’ll meet you out front.”

“No,” the officer snapped. “I’ll ride out now. No one is to know where you are going, and if you’re caught—or killed—you have had no orders from us.”